


Pearls and Curls

by MelfinaLupin



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Cheating, Drunk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelfinaLupin/pseuds/MelfinaLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drinking with the Doctor has never been so naughty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pearls and Curls

 

Laughter and the odor of cigars spilled forth from the secret speakeasy as Clara and the Doctor entered. A flash of the psychic paper in front of the tiny slot in the door had guaranteed their entry, and anticipation churned in Clara’s belly. Ever seen she met him Clara had grown into a well-traveled woman, but Clara had not yet adopted the Doctor’s habit of nonchalance. They were stepping into a scene straight out of The Great Gatsby. They paused to drink in the dazzling site. The place was crowded for a Saturday night. Women danced, robed in strings of snow white pearls and beaded gowns, and ruddy men played cards and drank champagne from overflowing flutes. And the music, oh, that live brassy jazz, sounded divine. She swayed, sashaying her hips gently to the beat. She couldn’t help herself. This was the proper vacation.

The Doctor looked far less thrilled by their surroundings. Here there would be no scientists, doctors, or engineers to fascinate him, only New York’s finest drunks. He heaved a sigh and looked down at his tiny companion. “I take it that you find this acceptable, boss,” the Doctor commented. The burr in his voice was exaggerated as he shouted to be heard over the noise. His eyebrows were pinched tight together.

Clara flashed him a smile, her curls bouncing. It was a particularly brilliant one that made her dimples pop. “Will there be any ancient soldiers this time ‘round?”

“No.”

“An untimely death of a planet? An alien invasion?”

“No and no.”

A dark eyebrow arched. “Are you getting rusty, Doctor?”

“I am not. I thought you’d want some good and proper fun, and illegal booze.”

Clara’s practiced look of skepticism vanished. “Right you are, Doctor. This is how our mini breaks ought to be spent!”

The glistening champagne tower was calling out to Clara the most. She grabbed two flutes before making her way back to her companion who had picked out a booth in one of the darker corners. Clara weaves her away through the raucous crowd, sipping from both flutes as she tried not to spill any champagne on her gold and black dress.  She loved that dress, and had a mind to ask the Doctor to let her keep it. When she plopped herself down opposite of him, she was good and well out of breath and his thick grey eyebrows were knitted with outrage when she didn’t offer him a drink.

“Oi, didn’t think to get me any?”

Clara took a long, slow slurp of the golden champagne before her smacking her red lips together. Delicious. She deserved more than just two drinks tonight being the doctor’s companion and all. “Nope, sorry. Didn’t think of you at all.”

He slid out of the booth with a scoff and Clara giggled to herself as she watched him march away. The first flute didn’t stand a chance. She downed the bubbly contents and it wasn’t long before she felt warm and good. Her belly radiated with warmth and her head buzzed.  She rocked to the music, humming along, as she enjoyed her second helping. It was time she let down her hair and enjoy an evening spend on her bum and not on her feet running away from almost certain death.

“That’s quite the butter and egg man you got yourself, tootsie,” a voice said behind her.

“Excuse me, what?”

There was a woman, older with teased blonde curls, sitting behind Clara. She sat on her knees, her thin arms crossed over the top of the tufted seat, and smiled widely. Her eye shadow was heavy and her pout was undeniably perfect. She apparently found Clara’s wide-eyed look of confusion amusing because she started to laugh. “Your companion for the night, lovely,” she explained. “He’s a handsome one. Looks like his pockets run very deep.”

Clara decided that it was the booze that made her blush. She supposed the Doctor made for a handsome looking bloke, in a boring distinguished sort of way. But so was Danny, though he was far from boring. Even though he preferred to spend his evenings in front of the telly instead of going out, Danny was definitely _not_ boring. “Are you nuts?”

“If I am, then so are you, sweetheart. Enjoy yourself tonight.” With a saucy wink, the woman departed when the Doctor returned with an empty glass and an unopened bottle of champagne. He sat it down on the table with a solid thud and looked at Clara as though he was expected to be applauded for the present. “Do you have anything idea how hard it was to procure this? It was like wrangling a gun away from a Sontaran at the start of a battle!” He popped the cork with a hastily use of his sonic screwdriver and filled their empty flutes.

Clara’s eyes widened as she read the tri-pointed label. _Dom Pérignon_. “I’m impressed by your wrangling skills. You wrangle very well, Doctor.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re drunk all ready, missy,” he snapped.

Clara wanted to argue him but hiccupped instead.

“I’ll have no upchucking in the TARDIS mind you. Although I’m not surprised you are drunk after all. You’re just so tiny, almost minuscule.”

“Oi! You’re just abnormally tall and I am not drunk. Stop throwing out unfair accusations, Doctor, and give me back my drink.” She reached for the flute but her fingers brushed against the cool glass, missing it. She shot him a timid glance and caught the familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Humor made his blue eyes light up. She bit her lip and tried to pick up the pieces of her pride. “I digress. I might be the teensiest bit tipsy, but I’m enjoying myself very much. Now help me with my drink if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, boss.”

The night grew late, but the party continued to carry on about them and the bottle was thoroughly enjoyed. Luckily the doctor was able to procure another and then another. He was on a kick, rosy and glassy eyed as he rambled to her silly things about far away planets. She was completely charmed, and didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed by how much she enjoyed watching him. He made her giggle like a school-girl around the rim of her flute, and as her mind led her to imagine them together in a more quieter, secluded area until she spilt some champagne down the front of her dress. 

“Oh, damn it!”

His furry eyebrows frowned at her. “Language, miss!”

“Shut it,” Clara snapped and tried to climb out of the booth if only her wobbly legs would do their bloody job. She honestly couldn’t remember how much she’d drunk, but the room was swaying fairly fast. She grabbed his shoulder to keep from falling over. His hands were on her hips in an instant. It was an intimate touch that made Clara’s belly knot up. She was so thankful he wasn’t one of those telepathic aliens. “I-I think I’m going to need your help.”

His voice was lower, rougher, when he asked, “What would you have me do?”

“I need your help to the loo. I got to wash the champagne off before it dries.”

The restrooms were tucked down a little corridor, and Clara needed more help than she thought she would as the two of them blundered towards the ladies’ room. The sounds of music and laughter grew quieter until a ruckus at the front of the bar drew their attention. The Doctor still immediately, his hand gripping Clara’s hip intimately as his stormy eyes glared over his shoulder. “The fuzz,” the Doctor explained. “Quick, Clara, in here.”

She was dragged inside a room with a little squeak. In the complete darkness the Doctor’s sonic screw driver buzzed to life as he secured the door. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve chosen a dirty closet as our hideout.”

“It’s not a closet!” The lights overhead flickered on, making Clara wince. “It’s a, well, it’s an office! A shabby little office but at least there’s a chair.” The lights where snuffed out and black and blue splotches danced in front of Clara’s eyes. “Don’t want to draw any attention to our whereabouts, now do we, boss?”

Clara shook her head before she realized the doctor couldn’t see her. “Course not,” she supplemented. She couldn’t think of anything less appealing than being thrown in jail in 1920’s New York. “No, that would be bad.”

“Very bad. Now come away from the wall.”

“Give me your hand.”

She allowed the Doctor to lead her away from the door and watched in amusement as he took the only seat available. How very courteous of him. Without much of a choice, Clara sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms snuggly about his neck. She half-expected her nerve to shock him, but it didn’t. His large hands gripped the curve of her hips as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, isn’t this snug,” Clara murmured. She kicked on foot out, swirling it in circles, “Us, all alone, in a dark office. I hope the fuzz don’t come a knocking.”

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. His voice was thick and deep like he couldn’t remember how to breathe. She heard him lick his lips. “It would be very rude.”

Clara’s fingertips inched closer and closer to the lapels of his suit jacket. She ran the pieces of silky fabric between their thumbs and forefingers slowly, following the strips down and then back up. It took all her courage to grip the lapels tighter and drag him closer to her. “Let’s just hope they knock before entering,” she breathed before taking a leap of faith and kissing the doctor.

He let her take the lead. The initial contact was brash and passionate, full of young, nervous pluck, as she pressed her lips to his. She relished the feeling of finally giving into the temptation, and that yes, she was fulfilling a very dark, secret wish. He didn’t push her away.

He was gentle, still, and tasted like champagne, and left like a man. She parted her mouth, felt his bottom lip move between hers, and then he took over. The gentle man disappeared. His arms crushed her body against his with surprising intensity. His long thin fingers splayed against the bare skin of her back, as he took control. The little moan of surprise rumbled in the back of her throat, but she didn’t pull away.

Stopping was unthinkable. She dragged a leg under and over until she straddled his hips to be more comfortable. A hand slipped down, squeezing her hip. That was all the encouragement she needed to rub against him. She moved by instinct and she was gleefully thrilled when she felt him press against her through his trousers. It was dizzying. It was thrilling.  He moaned low and rough, spurring on the tickles deep and low in Clara’s belly.

A hand eased the straps of her dress down her arms. Clara shimmied out of the dress impatiently, letting the heavy fabric pool around her waist, before her hands were on his suit jacket and pushing it out of the way. The Doctor tossed his jacket to the floor and tugged at his tie before the site of Clara’s tiny breasts beckoned the palms of his hands. He cupped them gently, rubbing the pink nipples with the pad of his thumbs until they were hard. Clara sighed breathless. It felt so much better being touched by another person. Brazen pinches drove her wild, made her wet, and she wondered if he could feel it.

“Doctor,” she gasped.

“What? Am I not supposed to do that?”

“No, You can. Just a bit more gently.”

“Gently,” he repeated as if to himself. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and his touch sent a lightning bolt straight to her groin. “Better?”

“You’ve got idea.” She was kissing him again. She couldn’t get enough. He palmed her breasts, working her nipples until they were raw.  The thought of the doctor taking them into his mouth and suckling aroused her even more. She dragged her body against his. His bulge between his legs had become hard.

“Up, Clara,” he said, pulled away, and helping her to her wobbly legs. He stood with her, looming over her with his hands on her arms. “Knickers off.”

She could only nod and struggle with the mechanisms of her undergarments. The clasps of the garters had to be undone first in order to get rid of her knickers but as she was working freeing the tiny, the doctor murmured, “Leave the stockings on, however.”

“I never took you for a stockings sort of man,” she quipped even though the sound of his raw, ragged commend made her want to jump his bones. Right then and there. Her knickers were kicked off in a hurry but the doctor was surprisingly diligent as he refastened the garter’s tiny clips that held her black stockings in place. “Up on the desk now, love,” he ordered, helping her up.

He moved closer, her legs wrapping around instinctively around his narrow hips. The metal clinking of his belt buckle followed by the downward pull of the zipper made her toes curl inside her shoes. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his starched blouse as though restraining her. If he didn’t fuck her soon it felt like she was going to fly off the desk. His fingers slid between her thighs and found her pussy first. His thick swallow was audible as he carefully rubbed her clit.

Clara squeezed her eyes shut as her back arched into his though. “While I appreciate that you know where and how to touch me, could we skip the formalities right now? Please, Doctor?”

“Why ever would I do something like that?” The prat had the indecency as be coy. She wanted to scream. “Why ever would I deny my dear little Clara such pleasure?”

“Because I want you. Right here. Right now, Doctor.”

“Fine. Next time?”

“Yes, next time,” she agreed before his hands were on her hips and dragging her to the edge of the desk. Then the tip of his cock was pressing against her swollen lips, spreading them apart and slowly slipping inside. Clara moaned, her body arching instinctively, encouraging him to hurry up and take her. His deep throated groan was worth it when he was fully inside her. His hands found her thighs, touching the naked flesh between her garter belt and the top of her stockings. Then he was moving, dragging himself out slowly before snapping his hips forward, reburying himself deeper and causing a moan of pleasure to rip out of Clara’s throat.  He moved, rutting and squeezing her damp skin, and Clara moved with him, her body taunt as a bow, her breasts shaking, her moans becoming higher and more breathless.

Her hand snaked between their bodies. Her hand expertly located her clit and started to rub it as the Doctor continued to fuck her. It felt like her body was on fire, and it was spreading and growing hotter with every passing moment. She wasn’t going to last very long. She tightened around him as she came with a muffled moan.

The doctor buried his face against her neck, groaned out her name, and pushed deeper inside. His body jerked between her legs before stilling.  They were a sweaty, messy heap as they collapsed against each other, sobbing for breath and riding out the last of the waves of their mutual pleasure.

“Next time,” the doctor murmured again, his hands stroking her slender, trembling thigh. His breath was labored and Clara found herself grinning as she pressed her forehead against his. “There will definitely be a next time.”

 

 


End file.
